And the Gods Smiled
by Cro-Magnon
Summary: This is a selection of thirteen short vignettes featuring scenes between my PCs and some of the NPCs—or just between the NPCs—of the Neverwinter Nights 2 OC. If you read it please do me a favour and leave feedback. Now complete including a glossary.
1. Morninglord

_Morninglord_

"I really don't get you sometimes," Neeshka whined, spitefully tossing a pebble into the surf.

"Of all the Sword Coast, this is probably one of my favourite places."

Chenzira gazed out across the bay as the breeze capped the breakers with white crowns before ripping them away again.

_What the gods give, the gods can take away,_ he mused wryly.

"Did you even hear me?"

He turned to face her, reading her mood by the twitching of her fiendish tail.

"Yes, Neeshka, I did. Sometimes I don't get you either."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"See, there you go all defensive on me again," he parried skilfully, "So tell me, what don't you get then?"

"Well…" here she paused, her tail twitching nervously, "You're like a priest of Lathander, right?"

"Yes," he drawled, having gotten to know her well enough to give her time to put her thoughts together.

"You let me loot the dead, _even_ the graves when we rescued that Fort Locke commander, but you won't _ever_ let me steal even a bent copper from anyone. You as much as _forbade_ me from ever picking someone's pockets or setting traps, but then you go and help me break into Leldon's place. _And_ you protected me from his goons and in the park when it was just you and me…"

"The dead have no use for their stuff, Neeshka," he replied, patiently, using the break in her torrent to get a word in edgewise, "and in the park, we were still outnumbered, but had you gone alone it would've been much worse."

"But the living do? Even the bad guys?"

"Even the bad guys, Neesh. Even guys like Leldon and Garius and all the other bad things we've faced together."

"Neesh? But why? _Argh!_"

"You don't like it? Because it would make us just as bad as them if we did. Argh, what?" he smiled gently.

"I like it _fine!_ You've just never called me that before… I… I was just a little surprised," she said, fidgeting with the tip of her tail, "You just frustrate me so. Like, if Leldon's one of the bad guys, why did you allow me to steal from him."

"You frustrate me too Neesh," he returned, soothingly, "You do such great things sometimes, in spite of yourself." He sighed, a little sadly, then continued, "But often you don't even know why you do them. As for Leldon, he stole from you first and I honestly thought that just stealing something as simple as a coin would get him off your back, _all_ our backs if you know what I mean?"

"You mean in spite of these?" she asked, pointing at her horns, "And to tell you the truth, I _really_ thought so too."

"Well, you must admit, you can be goat headed at times 'goat-girl'," he smiled, "More so when you don't tell the rest of us the whole truth."

"No I meant…"

"Yes, I know."

"_Argh!_ See, that's another thing…"

"That I always seem to know what you're going to say or do next?"

"There," she stamped her delicate boot at this, "you're doing it _again!_ Like that time with the ruby in the warehouse. _How?_"

"The Morninglord gives many gifts. Divination is just one of them."

"Does he grant you that impressive modesty too?" she winked.

"No, I do that all by myself," he grinned, then grinned foolishly, realizing he had fallen to her trap.

"So why _did_ you help me that first time?"

"You were in trouble, and outnumbered, and I tend to listen when Lathander speaks."

"You always _listen_ to your god?" she asked, surprised, "How?"

He smiled again, the mental image of her as a verbal pugilist coming to mind.

"I don't _always_ have to listen when he speaks to me during my meditations. But, it's always better when I do. Like when I bought that bow and scimitar before we even met dear Elanee."

"I was wondering about that. Khelgar thought you were crazier than him. You should've heard him when your back was turned."

"I did hear him."

"Oh. Sorry."

She pouted.

"Why do you call her 'dear Elanee'?"

"She's a good enough friend, Neesh, and she's a little lost too I think."

"Any regrets about listening to your god about a 'lost' tiefling?"

"None," he said, moving closer, "Here, use my old cloak. I can vouch that it doesn't smell like 'runty dwarf'."

"But I'm not…" she paused, and then shrugged, allowing him to drape his old Harvest Cloak about her shoulders, "Thanks. For the cloak and for… for listening."

"You're welcome," he smiled, and then withdrew quickly from her ensnaring gaze.

_No, the time was definitely not right for that yet._

"You dodge pretty fast for a man in full plate," she joked sadly, "but tell me, am I really _that_ repulsive?"

"No, not at all," he ventured, tasting the bitterness of truth, "Quite the opposite, Neesh. But, the others are waiting and now isn't the time."

"If it were up to some of the others," she replied spitefully, "_never_ wouldn't be the time either."

"Have I ever pandered to what others think?" he asked, moving closer, his one hand grabbing her forcefully-gently by the small of her back, his other, tracing her forehead, then gently holding one of her horns, tilted her head back a little.

"You always…" she managed, before he muffled any further protests with a firm, tender and sensual kiss, leaving her for once, utterly speechless.

"You were saying?" he arched a brow at her.

"Spoil the moment, why don't you?" she whispered a little breathlessly, "May Sune forgive you."

"And may Lathander prevent me," he smiled, "Now is _not_ the time, my love."

She blinked, but before she could reply, he was halfway down the dune. "Lady Luck smile on me. Lady Firehair bless me. And Morninglord please accept me," she prayed, smiling as she realised it had been the first time she had done so since the forced prayers to Helm she had had to endure in her youth.


	2. Foehammer

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of nudity. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_Foehammer_

"Is this your room?"

"Master Veedle calls it my 'personal suite', but yes," Kijani replied.

"A bit on the chilly side," she sniffed, raking fingers through dishevelled, auburn hair, as if the mere act of contemplation was torture, "I could change that."

"Qara, honey, there's a fire in the hearth already."

"_Indelstan Nuade!_"¹ she intoned, "Ah, that's better. I should perhaps have worn something warmer, something a little less revealing."

"I'm glad you didn't," he grinned, admiring her bookish, but all too feminine charms, so barely concealed by small scraps of lace and silk.

"The battle with the fire giants went well, though I missed burning them to little cinders. I really hate anything with fire resistance."

"You really surprised me," Kijani remarked handing her a delicate crystal goblet of feywine, "I wasn't thinking when I called for the attack."

"It doesn't matter;" she replied matter-of-factly, "Tholapsyx is dead."

"I've never seen you flinging spells like that," he praised, slipping an arm around her delicate, naked waist.

"Too busy cutting them up with your swords to notice?"

Despite the track of their conversation, she sighed and leaned against him.

"Yes."

It was a simple statement of fact. He was rarely in any position to observe her, as she seemed to pluck raw energy from the Weave at will, forming and shaping it with her power, to protect, or more often than not to obliterate.

"Were you scared?" she asked, turning into his embrace, smiling up at him.

"Not for myself," he admitted, "but for you. You just stood there, those missiles streaming from your fingers as that dragon bore down on you."

"Tholapsyx bore down on all of us as I recall. To have stopped would've meant death; death to even you, despite your apparent destiny _Kalach-Cha_."

"It was a close thing nevertheless and I _was_ afraid I'd lose you."

"Do you remember when we first met, outside Duncan's inn, when you asked me about myself?"

"Yes," he replied, remembering clearly that day. The day he saw a slip of a girl almost burn an entire block of the Docks District to the ground. It took most of the Watch and his group of companions most of the afternoon and early evening to get the blaze under control.

"Remember when I told you about what power feels like?"

"Yes."

"Today was like that. It washed over me. It felt like when we make love and you release me. It felt like time stood still and I… I was invincible, and I… I had total control, yet I could burn and burn and burn forever."

"Control, my love?"

"Strangely, yes," she admitted, "I guess the Academy instructors were right about that at least."

"Indeed," he smiled.

"Enough!" she grinned, ripping his simple shirt, "Now I want to lose control and burn and burn in your arms."

"You know, I don't think I've ever actually _slept_ on this bed," he laughed.

"_Iba Nar!_"² she cried, then whooped as she touched what little she wore, immolating sultry, red smallclothes and falling back naked onto his bed.

"Ralimralar, I love it when you speak foreign," he cried, struggling to be rid of his trousers fast enough.

* * *

¹ draconic, "Energy Protection":- _protection from energy_  
² draconic, "Fiery Claws":- _burning hands_


	3. Lady of Mysteries

_Lady of Mysteries_

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have yet heard coming out of your mouth, _stupid girl,_" Sand sneered.

"Oh?" Qara fumed, "At least I don't spend all my time poring over useless, stupid _books._"

"At least, _girl,_ I have actually learned something from my studies, unlike you."

"Well at least I'm not totally _lost_ without a spellbook, pointy ears."

"Oh gods, you are insufferable!"

"And you're repressed!"

"As if you are the very queen of _restraint_ then?"

"Well at least I have _real_ power."

"Pity you have such an unimaginative repertoire."

"Unimaginative?"

"Would you like a dictionary, _girl?_ I warn you, it might mean you would actually be required to read something."

"I've read _plenty_ of books I'll have you know."

"Yes," the elf scoffed, "I have seen the 'extensive library' of vellum next to your bed. Mostly romantic _drivel_ as I recall."

"You were in my bedroom? What in the hells were you doing in my bedroom?" she raged, smoke rising from her raised fingertips.

"A spell battle? How entertaining…"

"I'll char you to _ash,_ elf!"

"Less talk, more 'power', _girl._"

Power charged the air like static then abruptly collapsed in on itself.

"Well that was certainly interesting," the wizard yawned.

"Who's being unimaginative now?"

Hands raised and slashed through mystic passes, plucking power from the Weave.

"My dear girl, will you stop copying me."

"You're the one copying," the sorceress sneered, "I have the _limited_ repertoire, remember."

Arcane syllables echoed from the walls and vaulted stone ceiling while power hummed. Then silence.

"Some rules?"

"I'm listening book-reader."

"We each have a short while and in that time we may prepare ourselves. That way we may at least not waste all our power for today."

"You sound almost reasonable. Starting now?"

"Starting now."

Two globes materialised to surround the two casters. Two eldritch shields formed on two stone arms. Hairs and chitinous hide covered two faces while eagle cried loftily and fox barked slyly. Twin bears growled while sparkles rained down on each magic user. Small haloes surrounded two heads before each body blurred and duplicated then duplicated again.

"Now what?" the female statues asked.

"Now we take turns," the elven ones answered.

"Who's first?"

"Ladies first."

"Oh gods, you sly elf, you tricked me!"

"Out of spells already _girl?_ Too bad…"

Brilliant white missiles streaked towards the female gargoyles then splashed against invisible barriers like raindrops in a puddle.

"What the hells?" the elves exclaimed, perplexed.

"Was that the last spell you'd prepared, oh mighty wizard?"

"You cast a shield spell," the wizards mused.

"And you're surprised? To weapons then?" the women suggested.

"Oh do not be naïve you silly goose, we have stony skins and spiderlike reflexes. We would never hit each other and even if we did…"

"We'd do no damage," the women completed for them.

"So you do know something?" they marvelled.

"Only unimaginative spells."

"Forgive me, my dear girl, I underestimated you," the elves conceded, their sarcasm notably absent for once.

"As did I, elf," the females agreed, surprising them all.

"So what now?" they asked, at a loss.

"Well, you could always read me some of the 'drivel' in my room while we wait," the women suggested.

"If it will help to educate you," the wizards teased then warned seriously, "But not a word to the others."

"Only if you promise to…" they whispered into elven ears.

For the first time in a decade, one moon elf was speechless as a secret smile played across their stony lips.


	4. Moonmaiden

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of nudity. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_Moonmaiden_

"Fascinating, simply fascinating," Grobnar enthused, poking at a carapace here, looking closely at some mandibles there. "I must say, I have never seen a finer collection of specimens in all of the Sword Coast. Well, there was that one time, down in Waterdeep, but no, I am sure yours is much better."

"Aren't you glad you decided to stay now?" Mirri asked, playing with the laces of her bodice.

The gesture seemed lost on Grobnar, as he continued, "Oh, my, yes. Adventuring can be so tiresome at times. And to think, the lengths I have had to go to, just to entertain some people. Yes, yes, this is a much more logical choice."

"Anything you can think of to make your stay more pleasant," Jilla crooned huskily, throwing her sister a poisonous look, "you'll be sure to ask me, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, but of course. Such hospitality warms my heart. It is good to be back among fellow gnomes. Fellow scientists indeed."

"We could… ahem… warm more than just your heart if you wished," Mirri purred into his ear, stroking his arm as she sniffed at his neck.

"Oh that won't be necessary," he countered, still oblivious, "My tunic is made from the finest, padded, Calishite linen. It's really quite remarkable how they allow the linen to breathe, yet it is totally waterproof in the rain."

"I would surely love to… uh… make you breathe faster," Jilla commented, baring her teeth at her rival.

"Oh, you mean we should try and catch some more specimens for your collection?"

"Certainly," Mirri laughed shrilly, hackles rising, "Perhaps we could even catch something for evenfeast."

"Or we could allow our evenfeast to catch us," Jilla whispered, pulling back her shoulders and forcing a smile on her face.

"Forgive me, Jilla, Mirri, but why are you undressing?" Grobnar asked, perturbed.

"Oh, we always hunt in the nude."

"It saves our clothes out here in the wilds."

"Ah, yes, a very logical solution to a… forgive me for saying, a rather thorny problem."

"Will you join us then?"

"Will you let us hunt?"

"But of course, my dear ladies. In fact, I shall experience this hunt as you do then," he confirmed, starting to unbuckle his leather armour.

"We will await you outside," Jilla informed him as she scampered towards the cave entrance.

"In the full moon," Mirri said, blowing him a kiss.

Once outside the two gnomes howled lustily as they transformed under Selûne's eye. Arms and legs elongated as mouths and noses warped and grew into snouts; hair became short and bristly while bushy tails grew above small and pert pairs of buttocks. Breasts flattened slightly as the nipples grew bigger while a musky aroma started emanating from elsewhere.

"Shall we lead him a merry chase first?" Jilla growled, pawing the ground.

"I don't think I can wait that long," the other werewolf snarled, slavering.

"I have the hunger too, Mirri my love, but I yearn for more than meat."

"You wish for him to join with us?" Mirri asked, confused, "You were serious when you suggested it?"

"One more mouth to feed, I agree," her sister replied thoughtfully, "But think of the rewards. Besides, I'm sure he'll prove a powerful hunter too."

When Grobnar stepped into the light of the moon he stood no chance. One bite was all it took, the lupine saliva quickly mingling with his blood, changing it, quickening it. He too began to change, howling in pain at his first transformation. When it was over, he stood there panting then growled as he caught their scent.

"You wish to hunt or mate?" Jilla asked submissively.

"We hunt first," Grobnar growled, momentarily shaking the lust from his mind, while taking his first step towards undisputed leadership. "After the hunt there will be time enough for mating and other diversions."

With a howl he trotted off, followed closely by the two females of their small pack. He would have to rectify that, he grinned, white canines flashing. Judging by their scent, he would have little resistance in that department. Not for the first time in his life, Grobnar wondered what it would feel like to mate like animals, again and again and again.


	5. The Even Handed

_The Even-Handed_

"If you intend to enter the stronghold of Logram, it is to the north," the dark haired man informed them—his speech polite, measured and calm, "I could lead the way."

"What about your troops?" the monk enquired.

"We've lost some men, but I'll assemble who I can and join you on the assault," the beautiful woman standing next to him assured them, holding her heavy blade and shield as if they were made of driftwood. Her patchwork armour, bearing the dents and creases of countless battles, poorly concealed her finely honed muscles.

"No, Katriona—we have already lost too many," he countermanded her, his face carrying an expression of resignation, "and a massed attack on Logram will only cost us more—I will be going on alone."

"Casavir… sir… we've kept you from this once. I think it's best if…"

"Please, it is important that you do as I ask," Casavir continued, blue eyes steely and radiating an aura of strength, "Take the survivors, and fall back to the Greycloaks' camp. Do what you can to help them and keep the pressure on the orcs. If we cannot defeat Logram, then he will come after them in full force, and the Greycloaks _must_ be warned."

"So after all this time avoiding the Neverwinter forces, _now_ you want me to simply stride right into their camp?" Katriona asked, incredulous, fingering a necklace, dangling down to her waist. It was composed of enough tusks to populate the mouths of a small orc town. "Look… Casavir… let me go with you. There's no need to keep doing this alone—let me… let _us_ help you."

"We could use the extra men," the monk suggested.

"A smaller group will move quicker and attract less attention," he stated, as if the logic was self-evident, "The trail to Logram's lair is narrow—more swords will not aid us there."

"I've _seen_ that trail. If you go up there, you'll be nothing more than easy targets," she pleaded, defiant against the signs of losing their commander, at losing him, "Gods know what guards or defences they have… you'll be killed."

"You have your orders, Katriona. We shall meet you back at the Greycloaks' camp after we have dealt with Logram."

"_No!_" she defied him, "How can I simply say 'very well, sir—good luck, sir' when I could lose you."

"What is the meaning of this Katriona?" Casavir asked, perplexed.

"After all this time together…" she mused, "After all our battles together…"

"What do you mean Katriona?" he put it to her again.

"Can we talk?" she requested, her eyes pleading with him, "Alone?"

"We have little time, but it seems that we must."

They walked a short way off, the setting sun burnishing his plate with gold, copper and bronze as it did her hair.

"Well?" his dark brows arched.

"Isn't it obvious, sir… Casavir?"

"Is what not obvious, Katriona?"

"I see that for once I'll have to take the lead," she mused, dropping her sword and shield in the dust of the Sword Mountains. She reached up to him, gently cupping his chiselled chin in her calloused hands and planted a soft, deep kiss on his unsmiling lips. "I _love_ you Casavir. I've loved you almost from the start. Couldn't you see that?"

He did not withdraw from her hold, but sighed deeply, "I… I did not wish to lead you on, Kat. It would not have been befitting."

"Because you're a paladin?" she breathed; her lips still inches from his.

"Yes."

"Don't you ever _love_ then?"

"It is often unrequited. It is often secret; a yearning I dare not act on first."

"You've been waiting for me to make the first move all this time?" she sighed, dropping her eyes from his intense and forlorn stare.

"To do aught else would have been forbidden."

"And now?" she invited, her lips brushing his again.

He kissed her, deeply and longingly. Frustrated by the encumbrance of his shield and hammer he grunted. She encircled his neck instead, saving him the embrace, curling her fingers in the sweaty, dark curls of his hair. When they broke off, he smiled.

"Wait for me, at the Greycloaks' camp. My orders stand, but I _shall_ return to you, my love."

"Then good luck, sir," she smiled, then kissed him again soundly, "Tyr speed you back to me my paladin."


	6. The Lone Wolf

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of prejudice. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_The Lone Wolf_

"How are you feeling, lass" he asked, hands nervously fumbling with the front of his apron.

She smelled the odour of ale clinging to him and frowned.

_Perhaps Sand is right, perhaps that is what failed aspirations smell like._

"I didn't see you."

"Didn't see me?"

"At the tourney grounds, uncle. You weren't there."

Duncan sighed, his shoulders drooping even more, "Aye, lass, I wasn't there."

"Why?"

_I didn't want to see you killed lass._

"That Lorne," he sighed again, "I don't know how you managed to beat him."

"So you decided to rather drown your worries in ale, uncle?"

"Now, lass, that's not fair."

"No, uncle, I'll tell you what's not fair. Being half a drow is not fair. Not having a mother or a real father is not fair. Being in this blasted city with all its prejudice and politics and pomposity is not fair. Having this blasted thing inside of me…"

She ripped the neckline of her nightshirt down far enough that Duncan could see the ugly, raised scar above the swell of her breast.

"Have a good, long look, uncle! Have a good look at the only reason I'm here, the only reason I'm alive at all. I wish I _had_ died that night, along with my mother."

"No, lass!" he rebuked her, his raised hand threatening violence.

"Did you hit my mother too?"

Duncan quickly dropped his hand then stuck it in his apron pocket to make sure, "No, lass, I never did. But by the gods, I'll surely slap some sense into you if you ever take Esmerelle's sacrifice in vain again. Do you have any idea what she went through before you were born?"

"No."

She was not willing or able to admit it yet.

"Do you think your drow blood was simply an accident to inconvenience you, lass?"

"I don't know."

"Well, let me tell you, your mother went to hell and back before you were born. She never told me, but I can put two and two together. Your father didn't accidentally get your mother with child you know."

"What do you mean?"

"He was a drow and Esmerelle was human. Do you know what those dark skinned bastards call humans?"

"No."

"Excrement! Offal! Yet the black bastard found her drow enough to rape her. And he'd have killed her too, if she hadn't escaped when she realised she was with child."

Something inside her knew he had guessed true, yet still she asked, "Why?"

"Why keep you? Because she loved you lass. She loved you more than she could ever come to love a stupid wretch like me. She loved you more than life itself."

Tears stung her drow eyes as she realised the magnitude of her mother's love for her. Her dark heart softened a little, as she understood why he was always drinking or drunk, why he had stayed away when she had faced Lorne.

"Do I look like her?"

Duncan nodded.

"I'm sorry, uncle."

There would be time enough for her to repay him. There would be time enough to do what her mother could not.

"Aye, lass," he nodded again, sadly, "Your mother was a remarkable woman."

"I'll remember that in future, Duncan."

There would be time enough to love him.


	7. The Wyrmslayer

_The Wyrmslayer_

"By Clangeddin's beard, lass, ye fight a good fight with that mace of yours."

"Aye, lad," Ber smiled, wiping gore and bits of bone on the ragged tunic of one of the slain duergar. "But don't let my youthful looks deceive ye. I be older than ye I'd wager."

"Och, surely ye jest," Khelgar Ironfist scoffed, having planted the butt of his waraxe on the floor, he was now leaning on the blade with his elbows. "Why, ye don't even have a beard yet lass."

"Then ye must be in your cups, lad," she grinned, her voice sultry yet comforting, "for aren't we in human lands now?"

"By Tyr's left buttock," he oathed, slapping his forehead hard enough to put a stagger in his lean, "Of course, yes. Ye would've shaved off your whiskers."

"Now lad, let's get some ale into ye," the lovely, homely dwarf offered, "if nothing else than to shut your mouth before the whole world ken about our beards."

"Now that's an offer I can hardly resist, as long as ye be making the offering."

"Oh ye will have time and leisure enough to properly repay me, I'd wager."

Finding a seat at one of the three tables was not difficult. The bladelings and their duergar thralls had killed or chased off most of the former patrons of the Weeping Willow Inn, and the owner, Jorik Tanneset, had been overjoyed at their timely assistance. The fact that Ber was prepared to pay for the home brewed ale, as well as a platter of rinded, yellow cheese to eat with a bricklike loaf—of what she had assured him was simply dwarven bread—only served to elevate them in his eyes.

"Allow me to run you a nice, hot bath, my lady dwarf," he offered, as he put down the platter, "If only to wash the blood off after your meal."

"Aye, Goodman, that'd be splendid, and I thank ye for the hospitality."

"Will my sir dwarf also require ablution?"

"Nay, keep—"

"Aye, Goodman, King Ironfist here could use a good soaking, I insist."

"What—"

"As you wish my lady," Jorik winked, as if they had shared a private joke, "I shall fill the double then."

"Now, lass," Khelgar spluttered, "I appreciate your help and ye ale and bread, but—"

"But what, King Ironfist?" she asked, her voice suddenly matronly and thunderous, "Has the Ironfist manhood come to this?"

"But this be most unseemly, lass! I don't even ken your name."

"Aye, my apologies, King Ironfist, for I be Berronar," she smiled, "but ye can call me Ber for short."

"Aye Ber, that be a proper name, by the Silverbeard. Named for the Revered Mother, and I daresay I be more inclined to take ye up on ye other offer now that we be properly introduced."

"You could say that, but first we should make good of Goodman Tanneset's cheese and ale."

"Aye!" Khelgar bellowed, swinging back his tankard.

As the meal progressed, Khelgar found the ale, but especially the company to be more and more to his liking. In fact, tavern patrons throughout most of the northern Sword Coast would in later years praise the Willow Ale of seventy-seven with misty eyed fondness. Towards the end of the meal, his mind suddenly grasped a hold of something it had been chewing on since the start.

"Tell me Ber," he slurred, steadying himself with his ninth tankard, "Did I hear ye right earlier?"

"I never lie, Khelgar," she replied huskily.

"Then jest ye must have, for ye called me 'King Ironfist'."

"Aye, as well ye might be, Khelgar of clan Ironfist," she laughed, getting up and taking his calloused hand in hers, "But our bath awaits, and if ye wish, ye will see that it be not only my beard that be shaven."

"Your clan has some strange customs, Ber," he laughed as he followed, squinting slightly at the ale halo his mind had painted around her, "though ye have not yet mentioned it by name."

"It is Truesilver, King Ironfist, come to anoint ye" she said, as she stood suddenly naked before him, before stepping lightly into the steaming waters of the bath. "Though, I daresay, by tomorrow's light this eve will be like nothing more than a dream to ye."

"Then let us dream together, Mother of Safety, mother of beauty," Khelgar grinned in a moment of clarity, before the fog of ale, steam and love rolled in to obscure all.


	8. The Willing Whip

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature Adult** for scenes of sexuality and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on, as explicit adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_The Willing Whip_

"So what…"

_Swish, Crack!_

"…are we…"

_Swish, Crack!_

"…going to…"

_Swish, Crack!_

"…do about…"

_Swish, Crack!_

"…your hrasted…"

_Swish, Crack!_

"…rogue knight?"

_Swish, swish, Crack!_

Moire punctuated her ire, with a double flourish, before the cat lay down another welt on the exposed back of her victim. Though her half-dozen strokes had been executed perfectly, it irked her that the last had drawn blood. The Maiden would not be pleased at her lapse of self-control. As punishment, she used the crop in her left hand to bring an angry red blush from her right breast. She was naked from the waist up, and her exertion had brought a sultry sheen of sweat to her perfect elven skin.

"She needn't know about your involvement here," Axle Devrie replied, wincing slightly as he heard the meaty slap of the crop, "Why do you do that to yourself?"

"As a pain-bringer, I must administer the Whip's touch with measure, perfection and without emotion. When failing in that duty, I must allow Loviatar to correct me if she so wishes. Through her instruments, she's touched me before, in the same way Aribeth would've received a touch from Tyr."

"Aribeth? The Betrayer?"

"It was before your time, Axle, but she wasn't nearly the monster Nasher made her out to be. If anything it was the soft bellies of him and his noble cronies that allowed Luskan to get so far."

"Much like now, I suppose?"

_Swish, slap-a-slap! Slap-a-slap! Swish-slap!_

"Much like now. Now answer my question Axle!"

"I thought I already did…"

_Slap-a-slap!_

"That was on purpose, wasn't it?" her brow arched, as the crop continued to brighten the chest, stomach and privates of the man suspended—spread-eagled, wrists and ankles chained to loops in the stone floor and roof—before her.

"Perhaps," the Amnian gasped, "Was I wrong?"

"If you were, I've now corrected it."

"Very well, and I'm thankful. As for our rogue rogue, she's become too important to touch directly. Perhaps we can send her a message though?"

_Swish-slap!_

"What've you got in mind?"

"We'll arrange a meeting through Uncus. We'll lead her to believe that there's a feud going on between us. We'll each offer her an opportunity to assassinate the other."

_Swish, slap-a-slap!_

"And if she accepts?"

"We'll notify the Watch, or use Edmund to get one of the Nine to witness the attempt. I doubt Nasher will do anything with the proof, but she'll get the message."

Moire paused in mid-stroke and grinned like a fiend.

"I like that idea. In fact, I think it's your turn now."

Axle smiled as she started undoing his shackles. As his lover well knew, revenge exacted with measured control was always sweet.


	9. The Firelord

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of prejudice. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_The Firelord_

"What is it now? If it wasn't that you'd forced me into this place, and that I was a constant reminder of her, you'd have nothing to do with me."

The figure remained mute.

"Hrast you then!" Qara sobbed, hot tears flowing down grimed and sooty cheeks, like lava, destroying all in their path. "I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to be so much better than them. I hate their teasing, I hate them and I hate you. I hate you for what you did to her. I hate you for what they constantly do to me."

Still silence.

"Don't you have anything to say? Am I that much of a disappointment to you? Do you despise me that much? Like you despised her towards the end?"

"I hate you for that too you know. I hate you for forcing me to miss Mother. I miss her when those book-readers talk behind my back. I miss her when they laugh at me in the gymnasium. I miss her when all I want to do is burn and burn and never stop."

The figure snorted, once, in derision.

"Why did you do it? Why'd you take her away before I had any hope of learning how to be a woman? Before I had any hope of coming to terms with my small breasts. Or the feelings I get when I pluck the Weave. Or the loneliness. Or the anger."

"Is it all just some punishment, for what I've done? For what she'd done? Did you hope to mould me where you'd failed with her? Did you hope I wasn't like her, but more like you? Like them?"

No reply was her only answer. Like all the other times before.

"I'm leaving. I bet you didn't think I'd have the guts. Stupid Qara never reads anything, how can she possibly think or plan enough to leave. Well I am, and I will, and you won't stop me."

"There's no need to say goodbye. No need to try and call me back. No need to hug me farewell. You'll see I'm also strong, just like her. I don't need you. I don't need this place."

Power whined as heat rapidly expanded from her hands, before fire streamed in a short arc towards the figure. A ball of living flame engulfed the hapless victim, still obstinately silent, even at the end.

"Farewell, Father," she sighed as she walked out of the stables. "I really wish I could've talked to you."

Behind her chaos screamed as heat dried straw and timber swooped up in fiery glory. A grim, but satisfied smile painted her lips, as tears, flowing like molten doom, obliterated the last vestiges of her restraint.


	10. Patron of Mages

_Patron of Mages_

"Eat it Amie and stop being so fussy," Tarmas the Wizard cajoled, his dismal demeanour for once tempered by genuine concern.

"Only if you tell me another story; like the ones in that book."

Tarmas sighed. The child certainly may have magic flowing in her veins, but her stubborn nature could mean the death of her one day. As his own had almost meant for him all those years ago. He sighed again, shaking off the dread that came to him, suddenly and unbidden.

"Which book would that be child?" he asked gruffly, knowing full well which one she had meant.

"The one by Volo," she asked eagerly, ignoring his bluff.

"Marco Volo is a fool. You should put no stock into anything he has ever written. A waste of good vellum if you asked me."

"Please Tarmas," she pleaded, "How else am I supposed to stomach the mere cabbages you put into this?"

"No. It's bad enough you fill your mind with that useless drivel, but do not expect me to."

"Then tell me about the wizard."

Tarmas touched her forehead with the back of his hand. The fever was still burning brightly in her, despite Merring's potions. He would have to go and see the priest again as soon as the child slept. Perhaps she would eat her soup and fall asleep if he conceded to her request. With luck the fever would blur the details enough that she would remember little in the morning.

"Very well, Amie, but on two conditions…"

"Anything!"

"You haven't even heard what they are yet…"

"That I eat my soup and drink that awful potion," she piped a little too lustily. A coughing fit wracked her little body and he had to thump her back firmly to ease it.

"Now hush and eat. All your coughing will just interrupt me."

"I promise," she agreed, as he spooned a mouthful past her fever-chapped lips.

Without preamble he launched into his tale.

"Wode knew he was in trouble. His Luskan porters had disappeared the previous night, most likely deserting. The footprint under his left boot was twice, no three times as large as any he had ever seen before. Perhaps they hadn't deserted him, he thought, but were taken by trolls or ogres or giants."

Amie stared at him with wide eyes, her mind's eye painting the hapless porters into metal cages, hanging from giant rafters.

"Were they in cages? Like the one Magpie sleeps in at night?"

At the sound of his name, Magpie the raven cursed in Illuskan, before hopping down to perch on Tarmas' shoulder.

"Oh very well, Magpie, you can play with my spoon when he's finished giving me this awful soup," the girl promised the bird in the same language.

Ignoring the interruption by both his apprentice and familiar, Tarmas continued.

"Yes, the lucky ones at least."

"And the unlucky ones?"

"What do you think girl? Now would you want me tell my tale or answer your questions all night?"

"I'm sorry Tarmas. Please don't stop."

"Wode followed the giant footprints, each stride carrying him deeper into the forbidding cave. He stopped when he smelled the awful stench, his dawnfry making childish cartwheels inside his stomach."

"Was it a troglodyte?"

"No you silly girl. It was the giants."

"Are giants that smelly?"

"Well these ones probably hadn't bathed in years, if ever. I suppose not unlike most people here."

"Like Lewy Jons?" she giggled, pinching her nose.

"Oh, much worse than that muck farmer—or his pigs. Following the smell, Wode soon saw his enemies, and his missing porters. He knew they were much too tough to kill or put asleep. There was nothing for him to do but cast some illusions, hoping to scare off the nasty brutes sitting around a giant cooking fire. More like a bonfire to the likes of you and me. As quietly as he could, he began conjuring some giant snakes and spiders."

"Snakes and spiders?"

The mage sniffed dismissively as if the answer was self evident.

"Of course yes. Everyone knows the giant kin are afraid of snakes and spiders, especially ones their own size. Just like you Harbormen fear the mere moccasins and swamp spiders. With good reason I might add. Filthy place this is, with too much of anything that is poisonous if not cooked, and inedible most of the time even then."

"So did they?"

"Did they what?"

"Run away?"

"But of course. Wode was one of the best illusionists in all of Faerûn. The gnomes of Lantan had taught him most of their really good spells."

"And did Wode rescue them?" she yawned, after he had dabbed at her lips with a linen kitchen cloth turned makeshift napkin.

"Yes he did. They even fished the poor unlucky souls out of the giant's cooking pot and gave them a proper burial later."

"Were my parents glad to see him Tarmas?"

"It had been your uncle, and later, when he first met them, they had not been pleased. Their brother had been one of the unlucky ones," the wizard replied, stroking her hair.

"Is that why he came to West Harbor?"

"No. It is the reason he stayed."

"You're a brave wizard Tarmas…" she whispered, her words slurring as sleep took her.

Tarmas Wode shook his head sadly, remembering the truth of that awful trip. He had been neither brave, nor resourceful when he had seen the monsters feed. He had saved nobody and would have been killed himself if not for a halfling traveller.

"Come Magpie," he sighed, getting up and pulling the covers up to her chin, "Let's go see Merring again. I still owe them a life, so his potions better work."

"Dread and death," the raven cursed, echoing the mage's fears as they stepped into the night.


	11. Faithless One

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature Adult** for scenes of violence, sexuality, prejudice and strong language. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on, as explicit adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_Faithless One_

Keen copper eyes scanned the horizon then dropped down to evaluate the spoor. Their owner didn't slow, jogging at a league-devouring pace he could maintain for days.

_Still two days old and she's movin' fast. Not fast enough. Probably knows we're on her tail. Wonder what she looks like? By the way she runs I bet she's got a nice pair of pluckers._

He would have to slow down soon. It was already mid-morning, and he had been up and moving since an hour before dawn.

_Tluinin' Luskans! Always offin' each other. Then when things go wrong, they call us Blades in. Surprised it only took the Mages two days to decide this time. Not that it really matters on this one._

This far north, the ground was packed hard with permafrost. The Ice Lakes would be mostly frozen over by now. That could cause a delay.

_Hope she's not clever or brave enough to try and cross one. Will have to use Karnwyr if that happens._

He caught a glimpse of his companion, loping along, about fifty yards to his right. His breath came out in puffy, white explosions, like steam from a gnomish contraption.

_Clever boy. Took me some time to teach you that trick. Why give the bastards one target when you can force 'em to aim at two._

To the north the Spine was a solid, purple worm, only visible from the snowline down. Winter's storms, blown up over the peaks from the Reghed Glacier and the frozen, far-north Frozenfar, covered the sky in a sullen, grey shroud.

_Where you headin' wench? Looks like you're cuttin' a fast one for Raven Rock. You an Uthgardt, a Black Raven? Not like 'em to come this close to 'civilization'. Can't say I blame 'em._

The Black Ravens were a bad lot, but he had had dealings with them before; mostly of the deadly kind. They often roamed as far south as the Crags, and almost always attacked some caravan on the Luskan-Mirabar route.

_Tluinin' savages! Still, probably a might less connivin' than the Mages. And their catclaws are a hrasted sight better than the slapthighs near the docks._

It was almost a pity they had had to kill the females they had captured last time. They fought back hard when they were being tluined. He could appreciate that. The problem was they were Black Ravens and they just never quit. If you did not put them down, like petting a rabid cur, you were asking for trouble.

_You better let me catch you alone girl. If Lorne and the others are with me, you'd be raped to within an inch of death. No, my skinnin' knife is much kinder. Believe me._

The others were leagues behind. It was his job to track her, and track her fast. Capture her alive to face low justice back in Luskan. He would decide on that one, once he caught her and tluined her. If she made his life difficult, he'd leave her for the others, and if she survived that, the Host Tower Mages.

_Tluinin' Luskans know how to execute someone. I'll give 'em that._

They had the gallows, beheadings, eviscerations, crucifixions, impaling, and his personal favourite, gang-rapes. All were very public just to show the lowborns and the tourists what to expect if they step out of line.

_Poor bastards._

He would have to make sure to silence everybody when it was his turn. This was going to be his last job. He had had enough of orders. He had had enough of the Mages, the Blades and idiots like Lorne. When it was done he would disappear and take care of anyone they sent after him.

He lengthened his stride. The quicker he captured her, the quicker he could be free. For the first time since the fiasco had started, Bishop smiled.


	12. Treefather

_Treefather_

"Where am I, and what happened?" I wondered aloud.

Of course there was no immediate answer. Had I expected one, I would have been foolish. I would have been human.

_Like him?_

Strange, did I think that or say that aloud too? It was so hard to tell. The noise of this strange wind drowned out almost everything, even thoughts of him.

The landscape was bleak; lifeless and austere. Yet it was also somehow familiar, like I had been here before, in another time.

_Another lifetime?_

Something about that question haunted me, like cruel laughter and mocking eyes. Fire flared up in front of me, engulfed me, yet left me cold.

"Why?" I asked the wind then gasped as the landscape seemed to tilt and swirl like eddies of mud in swampy water.

It had been in a swamp I had first seen him. He had been out hunting night birds, and I could see his cruelty even then. It had been without remorse that I had sprung his traps, knowing that he hunted not for food, but for sport. I had always been careful, had taken or used some animal form when doing so, yet he had somehow known. If I had been his constant watcher, he had been my constant odium.

I gasped again as reality, or what served for reality in this strange land, reasserted itself. I knew this place. It was his keep, his place of cold, indomitable stone, like the walls around his icy heart. And there he was too, revealed as his true self, a black shadow in a charcoal storm.

"Come to also join our cabal, Elanee?" he mocked, and the memories asserted themselves, forcefully, undeniably, like he had done with my body that one night in his room.

"You killed me."

It was a statement of fact, though he seemed to think it required some response.

"Of course," he smiled, malice dripping from the void that served as his mouth. "Did you think I had forgotten? About all those sprung traps, or what had happened back in Merdelain?"

I winced at his horrid use of the Elven, as if it had been a slap.

"How?" I managed, reeling in confusion and pain.

"I could always sense you Elanee, my little watcher in the wilds. Just like I could sense your arrival now."

"Why?" I asked again, half expecting the world to smear and warp, as when that question had brought me here.

"Because of the power of hatred."

"I do not understand…"

That seemed like such a feeble shield against what my eyes, or whatever allowed this ghostly form to see, told me so clearly.

"You are looking at that power right now you stupid elf," he seemed to voice my thoughts.

"Then if we are all dead…"

"Still a little slow on the uptake I see," he laughed, thunder rumbling overhead. "The King of Shadows sees all hatred."

"No!" I shouted as reality folded in on itself again and I was suddenly back in the Mere.

I looked into the dark waters and cried out to my god.

_Oak Father forgive me!_

It was his face that looked up at me out of the dead water. It had been my own hatred that had so utterly doomed us all.


	13. Grain Goddess

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for scenes of sexuality. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

_Grain Goddess_

It'd been almost a tenday after she'd left West Harbor the first time… I'd been heading out to the Lannon place to bring Mom butter, or cabbages or some such. I remember it'd been a dark night—Selûne and her tears had been shadowed by clouds. I hadn't seen them coming. Some cloaked figure… with some of those gray-skinned dwarves who'd attacked West Harbor. They'd asked… a lot of questions. I hadn't wanted to tell them anything, but their knives had been sharp and… I think I would've told them anything to make the pain stop.

They'd asked about everything we'd done… every little detail. They'd said they'd kill me. They'd been getting desperate, since she'd apparently killed some more of them at the Weeping Willow Inn and again later somewhere between Fort Locke and Highcliff. So they hadn't known about the silver shard until I'd told them. And I'd known, as they'd hissed a word—_Kalach-Cha_—that they'd never stop hunting her after that.

They'd just… left me; left me to bleed. Chasing her down had been all they'd cared about. I'd managed to crawl to… Brother Merring. I wouldn't tell him what had happened—made him promise to keep quiet, but Daeghun had known. He always knew. I could see it on his face as he'd come to me the day after.

"You must go after her, Bevil," he'd said, "You needn't tell her the why of it, but you must warn my daughter."

He hadn't needed to say anything more, but I could see it in his eyes. I'd only earn his forgiveness if I did as he asked. In that moment I'd understood him for the first time in my life. Heroes were merely the folk that got back up when life knocked them down. So I'd listened when he'd explained the path she'd most likely taken. I'd left for Neverwinter the next day and four days later I was looking at a burnt down barn.

"Who are you?" she shouted from her front door then galumphed her way over to me before I could stammer out a reply.

Despite how pretty she was, she would never inspire a bard when she ran. Perhaps it was the oversized work boots on her feet, perhaps it was simply her long legs or ample pillows—bitebolds as Lorne used to call them—but she was proof of the old saying. No, and without being unkind to her, I think she might've inspired that saying in the first place.

"Did Mayne send you to help with the barn?"

I must've gawked at her like the swamp farmer I was. Her eyes… They were a pale brown, but warm and inviting, with flecks of bronze. She was wearing a loose fitting work shirt, but up close I could see that her pillows were comfortably filling it. Yet, my gaze was almost immediately drawn back to her eyes, my farmer's mind having simply filed her curves under—what any Harborman would call—"good stock".

"Whoever you are, you don't look much like a farmer to me. Any reason why you're gracing me with your presence?"

I could hear that my silence was trying her patience. Her words had still been polite, but if I didn't say anything then, she'd have chased me off with a pitchfork, despite the chainmail _or_ my battered, old longsword strapped over my right shoulder.

"I'm sorry about your barn," I finally stammered, feeling the heat of the sun, and her eyes, and the glimpse of a cleavage through the open front of her shirt, rise in my face.

"Look. Some of us aren't sellswords, or mercenaries, or whatever you are, able to drift from town to town for a few coins. Some of us have to make a living off the land we're given. So if you're not here to help me, leave me alone, because there's none of that work for you here, all right?"

"I am a farmer, from West Harbor," I managed just before I fainted.

I woke up a short while later, as she poured a bucket of icy well water over my face, nearly drowning me in the process. I was just trying to get to my feet when she slapped me thoroughly, then grabbed my mute hands in hers to help pull me up.

"Don't you scare me again like that, Harborman!" she admonished, as if I'd purposely chosen her farm as my final resting place. Looking at her eyes, and feeling the warmth of her calloused hands, I won't say I wasn't tempted to find rest there forever.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," I stammered, hoping she didn't hear the lie, or wouldn't understand it even if she did.

"Come into the house, let me fix you something to drink," she offered, "You still look mighty red in the face."

I knew then what the swamp rat said to the marsh owl. I followed meekly, glad for the warmth of her one hand still holding mine as she led me inside.

It must've been the strength of her home-stilled cider, or the warmth of the fire burning away the Leafall evening chill. It could even have been the loss we'd both shared with each other since before highsun, when we'd sat down in her kitchen that had caused her to say it the way she did.

"I suppose you'll sleep with me tonight, Bevil?"

It may even have been her bronze eyes, or her warm touch, or to be honest her shifting pillows, long legs and inviting hips that caused me to answer her the way I did. It may've simply been the goddess, demanding a tribute of wild oats.

"With your barn out of action, I suppose I can't tumble in your hay."

We both stared at the other, shocked at how we'd not said what we'd meant, but had meant what we'd said.

"I'd want that," she whispered then giggled huskily, "Don't think I'd get that rod of vibration working at this point anyway…"

I blushed, having once heard Amie read about one, out of one of Tarmas' more esoteric tomes, when we'd been kids.

"I'd like that, Shandra," I replied, thanking the Earthmother for her bounty.


	14. Glossary

_Author's Note_: Please note that some of the material you are about to read is definitely rated as **Mature** Teen for sexuality and strong language. You should be 16 years old or older before continuing on, as strong adult themes are explained. Please do NOT continue if any of these make you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this glossary.

_Glossary of Phrases, Sayings, and Words of the Realms_

"Bitebolds" – common:- a rude or vicious term for breasts  
"Candle" – common:- in cities, temples, and monasteries, the equivalent of hours are so many "bells" (a bell is rung) or "candles" (which do visibly burn down) from or to a measurable event  
"Catclaw" – common:- a prostitute who likes rough sex or domination, or who will for coin try to seduce others, or act the role of a slave, spouse, conquered war-captive or former rival who is now a willing lover (in other words, benefit or enhance the status of a paying client by her acting, from wearing chains and willingly accepting abuse to pretending to have been smitten by the sexual prowess of the client)  
"Dawnfry" – common:- the more colloquial, or specific, term for breakfast (often a camp meal at dawn; literally a skillet fry-up of some sort using fish or leftovers from the day before, eggs, sliced meat cooked in its own juices, the ubiquitous trail-food sausages, etc.)  
"Evenfeast" – common:- a _very_ popular variant for "eveningfeast," also known or pronounced as "evenfest"  
"Eveningfeast" – common:- the formal term for dinner, also known or pronounced as "eveningfest"  
"Feywine" – common:- a nectar created from the juice of flowers, mixed with honey and an additional, secret ingredient; in elves it can induce frivolous behaviour, lasting for days or even weeks, but the effects on other races is much greater, and large quantities can make a human lose all sense of self for months  
"Harborman" – common:- so called by outsiders, it refers to the citizens of West Harbor, often in admiration of them being tough, practical, or self-reliant, or in mockery of them being stubborn or naïve, or the slight, peaty smell they seem to carry wherever they go  
"Highsun" – common:- midday or noon; colloquial description for Eleasias  
"Hrast!" and "Hrasted!" – common:- non-deity-specific "Damn!" and "Damned!"  
"Iba" – draconic:- prefix meaning fiery or any of its synonyms  
"Indelstan" – draconic:- energy, particularly natural energy as in a breath weapon  
"Nar" – draconic:- claw, singular or plural; to strike (with a claw)  
"Nuade" – draconic:- ward; protection  
"Pillows" – common:- a term used when joking about breasts in polite company  
"Pluckers" – common:- a really raw term for breasts  
"Ralimralar!" – common:- a delighted: "Son of a bitch!" specific to Tempurans  
"Short while" – common:- what we would call a minute is "a short while" or "a goodly breath or three" for most humans in the Realms, whereas dwarves and elves tend to call the same span of time (actually, anything up to about three minutes) "a short while" or "but a little while"  
"Slapthighs" – common:- a low-rate or coarse or willing-to-be-abused prostitute; the term is descriptive, _not_ pejorative  
"Tenday" – common:- months are subdivided into three ten-day periods, known variously as "eves", "tendays", "weeks", "domen", "hyrar", or "rides" throughout the Forgotten Realms  
"Tluined!" and "Tluining!" – common:- "Fucked!" and "Fucking!"  
"Tumble" – common:- an intransitive verb ("Care for a tumble in the hay?") or more rarely a transitive verb ("He tumbled her in the hayloft."), used as a euphemism for love-making or sexual intercourse


End file.
